


Angels of Good Fortune

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brotherly Banters, Castiel Has Low Self-Esteem, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, Comforting Castiel, Fluff, Jimmy Hears Angels, M/M, Mary winchester is alive, Medium Jimmy, Pretending to be someone else, References to s12 sorta, Upset Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 20:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Cas cranes his head in the direction of the new customer. He can’t quite see him over the heaps of psyche figurines and paraphernalia, but he can certainly hear that deep drawl, “Hi, Jimmy Novak?”“Uh, no, he’s actually—” Cas’s breath hitches. The mystery man’s identity is revealed when he rounds the corner to get to the front desk. “Me,” he corrects. “He’s actually me, Jimmy Novak.”





	Angels of Good Fortune

 

“Oh boy,” Jimmy groans from the back of the shop, “their fortune is beyond fucked.”

Cas laughs at the admission coming from his devoutly Christian brother. He continues to hold the quartz crystal pendulum in his right hand, which, judging by the circular motion it’s giving him, indicating a strong yes: “Must be.”

“I just feel awful, you know?” he says, voice carrying through the aisle with the spiritual guides as he makes his way to the front desk, “I don’t wish anything bad upon these people. I’m just the message carrier. At least if I had use for tarots, I could tell them it’s the luck of the draw.”

Cas drops his head to look at Jimmy through similarly blue eyes. “Jimmy, I’m pretty sure that would make them feel _worse_ , knowing they don’t have the best luck.”

“That’s true. At least they know angels are watching over them.”

“Well, actually, they’re technically only watching over _you—”_

“Help me out here, brother.”

Cas puts a stop to the crystal and puts on a smile. “You know I’m not a psychic, Jimmy.”

“ _Medium,_ ” Jimmy corrects, “I’m a medium.”

“Right. You getting lunch?” Cas asks, unfazed.

A few years ago, Jimmy started hearing voices in his head, telling him to do crazy things to prove he _wasn’t_ crazy, like stick his hand in a pot of boiling water. Amazingly, he came out unscathed, but his wife and daughter didn’t. They thought he needed intensive help that he refused to get to this day. The church even offered their services, but in truth, it only made him more of a believer.

Especially when everything he receives over what he calls “angel radio” is startlingly accurate.

Many people have sought Jimmy’s services and thanked him for everything from helping them get closure to saving their life. It’s like Jimmy’s the puppeteer of all things fate and destiny, which, when you’re his twin brother, sounds cool and all at first, but the charm starts to wear off when random people come up to you on the street, thinking you’re him, and supply their gratitude—but not after you hear everything that’s supposed to be kept inside the back corner of the little shop.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says, sticking his hand in his front pocket for his wallet, “do you want anything?”

“White Castle, couple of burgers, if it’s not too out of the way.”

“You know those burgers won’t grant you entrance into the _real_ White Castle.”

“What, do the angels tell you that?”

“No, but I’m sure your cholesterol does,” Jimmy says.  “I’ll be back. You know what to do.”

“Alright. I definitely _won’t_ ask the crystal if you’re a major pain in my ass or not,” Cas says, knowing damn well he won’t get those White Castles, “I know the answer to that age-old question.”

Cas pushes the door open and, without turning back, waves a stiff goodbye from behind.

The next few minutes roll by without a jingle until one man changes that.

Cas cranes his head in the direction of the new customer. He can’t quite see him over the heaps of psyche figurines and paraphernalia, but he can certainly hear that deep drawl, “Hi, Jimmy Novak?”

“Uh, no, he’s actually—” Cas’s breath hitches. The mystery man’s identity is revealed when he rounds the corner to get to the front desk. “Me,” he corrects. “He’s actually me, Jimmy Novak.”

The man nods curtly, amazingly not shaking an inch of that caramel mane on his head. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Dean. I know I don’t have an appointment, um… something just came up and I guess… I don’t know. I guess I could use a little guidance. If the angels are up for gabbing today.”

Cas smiles, causing the corners of Dean’s lips to perk up too, teasing at a smile that’s bound to give a little sparkle to those green eyes of his. “Always. Have a seat, right his way.”

Dean follows Cas to the back room and tries not to gag too much on the incense. Jimmy loves those things. The _real_ Jimmy, anyway. Then, once they get situated, Cas gets right into it. He doesn’t know how Jimmy does it, granted the room is sectioned off for privacy reasons, so he does what any normal psychic would do in his mind and holds out his hands, eyes closed.

“Do you want me to…?”

“My hands, yes,” Cas answers, closing his eyes once more, “it’s how the angels know who I’m speaking with. They can read your… life lines.” _Yeah, that sounds good._

Dean does just that (also amazingly without question), and Cas first notices the calloused tips, since those are the first to brush with his hands. The lengths of his fingers are a little bit softer, minus the cuts, some pre-existing, some older, but his palms are baby smooth, like he clasps something enough to stimulate his sweat glands to use as a natural lotion.

“What do you do, Dean?”

“I’m a mechanic.”

“So you work under cars a lot?”

“Uhm… sometimes, depending on the job… how is this relevant to the angels?”

Cas searches around behind his still closed eyes for an appropriate answer. “It’s just for verification purposes, you know, like, when you get locked out of an account.”

“Oh… okay, I guess that makes sense,” says Dean, “the last name’s Winchester, if that helps.”

“Yes, good,” Cas replies. “So, what guidance did you come in for today?”

The pause in the room echoes in his ears before Dean says, “My, um… my mother re-entered the picture recently. I’ve always looked to her as this stereotypical mom image, you know, beautiful, immaculate. She used to cut the crusts off my PB&Js and sing me the Beatles before bed.”

“And your mom,” Cas says, “when you say re-entered, you mean…?”

“From the dead,” Dean replies. “Well, I mean, not really. I thought she was. She disappeared when I was four, haven’t seen or heard from her since, so I assumed she was dead.”

“That sounds great.”

“It is, believe me, I’m over the moon. It’s just, we haven’t really gotten into where she’s been or why she left, but I still have this image, you know? That she’ll cut my crusts and serenade me ‘Hey Jude’.” Another pause. “But I’m sure the angels know all of this. Sorry, I’m just rambling.”

Cas slowly opens his eyes and shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Um... so, your mom. Has she expressed wanting to come back into your life in that way?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. I think so. I mean, she seems… normal. Not, like, drugged out or anything crazy, but she also seems a little bit off.”

“Maybe she’s readjusting too,” Cas offers. “I don’t know the circumstances, why she did what she did in the first place, but maybe it’s something new for everyone.”

Dean laughs grimly, “My dad was a raging drunk sometimes. He wouldn’t come home for days.”

“What do you think?”

Cas feels Dean tense up in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I mean… maybe it was my fault. For her walking out in the first place.”

“Why do you think that?”

Dean shakes his head softly and runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I don’t know. I guess the blame just needs to be put somewhere.”

Cas nods.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t really thought about how I’ve felt about it lately,” Dean adds.

“How do you feel about it?”

Dean’s expression doesn’t show any change, but his fingers clench a little around Cas’s, like he’s trying to clasp onto something. Something inside Cas tells him it’s not a wrench, but what’s inside Dean probably feels like one. “Angry.”

“That’s understandable,” Cas says. “After all, you don’t have an explanation yet as to where she’s been this whole time. And you looked up to her, idolized her, even. That can make a lot of people in your position angry. Have you talked to anyone else about how you feel?”

“I try talking to Sam, my brother,” Dean says, “but we’re both stumped. I feel even worse for him, because he doesn’t really have _any_ image of her. She left when Sam was a baby.”

“Is Sam the middle child, by chance?”

Dean’s eyebrows taper a little and a little wider of a smile teases his lips. “Yeah. Well, the second of two, so I guess that makes him the middle child.”

Cas smiles a little too. “Middle children tend to be mediators in the family,” he explains, “assuming he’s trying to make peace between you and your mother. It’s a natural instinct, but it can also be his way of weighing the opinions of the two people who matter to him the most.”

“Cas, what’re you doing—?”

Cas darts his head like a cat caught with his head in the pantry to his brother.

“Cas?” Dean’s eyes narrow before swiveling to Jimmy.  Then, looking between them, like the light at the end of Gatsby’s dock, they widen to reveal a full expanse of blinding green. “What’s going on?”

“I’m Jimmy, the shop owner,” Jimmy replies, gesturing with the hand not holding the foodstuffs, “I’m supposed to be sitting where my brother is, but I went on a food run.”

Dean shakes his head, “Wait, so _you’re_ the medium Jimmy? The one who hears angels?”

Jimmy nods, but not before casting Cas one last questioning side glance. “Are you here for a reading?”

“Yeah,” says Dean, looking between them again, “but… Cas… already… am I paying for this session?”

Jimmy breathes in audibly, looking straight at Cas as he replies, “No. But I’m sure the angels will find a way to repay Cas for generously offering himself as another vessel to speak through.”

Cas opens his mouth and closes it just as fast as he watches his brother storm off.

“Why did you lie?” asks Dean. There’s no venom in his words, which makes Cas feel even guiltier.

He bites his lip before letting his own words pour from his mouth, “I’m unemployed. I’ve been working for Jimmy on and off since the first of July until I can find another job. I’ve felt pretty low about it. And with my twin brother is kind of a hero around town, I wanted to see what it felt like. I know that’s no excuse for leading you on… and neither is that your looks factored in, too.”

“So… you were trying to impress me?”

Cas rubs his neck. “More or less, yeah. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken advantage—” Cas scoots from Jimmy’s chair and starts by taking one long stride towards the door, but Dean impedes him.

“Cas, wait.”

Dean doesn’t have to pull the classic romcom move of reaching out for the girl’s arm to stop him. Breathtaking doesn’t even cut it when he can feel everything in him being taken, his stomach, replaced with butterflies, his legs and knees replaced with jelly. He feels like the pilot of his own airplane. He needs to navigate to reach his destination—which, at the moment, is home—but instead he’s boggled at the sight framing his windshield, his freckles like daytime stars gathered around his emerald greens, which, closer to the middle, imitate two shining suns.

“You weren’t taking advantage,” Dean reassures. “Everything you said was spot on, even if you aren’t a psychic.”

Cas shakes his head. “How is that—?”

“You aren’t wrong about my mom, needing time to readjust,” Dean explains. “We all do. My dad, he could be a real piece of work, but it’s not his fault she left. It’s not mine either. It was her choice, and that makes me angry. She’s my mom, and I love her, but I want to know the truth. I deserve to know the truth, but covering my ears also sounds equally appealing.”

Cas nods. “The truth can scare most people away. But you seem like you’re standing your ground, Dean. And I don’t know about your mom, but I’d say that makes you a fantastic son.”

Dean’s smile unveils, and Cas is right, it _does_ make his eyes sparkle, “Thanks. I do want her in my life. More than anything. She’s my mom, you know?”

Cas smiles. “Then don’t let her go.” Another pause lingers between them, then Cas adds: “Is it too late to mention that I’m studying to be a therapist?”

Dean laughs softly, “Of course you are.” He adds, “Oh, and by the way, you’re pretty hot, too.”

“Thank you!” Jimmy calls from the front, to which Dean and Cas both laugh.

It doesn’t help dispel the blush from Cas’s cheeks, but he has a feeling there will be more where that came from soon when Dean asks, “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“Sure, um… actually, how do you feel about White Castle?”

“Are you kidding?” Dean scoffs, “what monster doesn’t like burgers?”

Cas laughs, “I can think of one person.”

 

 

Cas isn’t a conduit for the Kingdom Come, but he has a feeling his fortune is in good hands.


End file.
